


I Follow the Night

by Castalie



Series: The Night [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Dirty Talk, M/M, Prostitution, elements of d/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalie/pseuds/Castalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written in 2004, here's the original summary/AN : this is the new incarnation of an old WIP. It's an AU, so let's forget about cop!Jim, grad student!Blair, the loft and so on and so forth. Those Jim and Blair went through different lives than the ones we saw in The Sentinel. Let's say things didn't go well when Jim came back from Peru, and Blair never went to the uni when he was a kid. It's an edgier version of our guys, but they were meant to be together, no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Follow the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Starwatcher for the beta.

Flesh meeting flesh in a frantic rhythm. Grunts and groans echoing in the small room. Dirty words whispered harshly. The sounds could have meant passion and love, but to the man on his hands and knees on the now dirty bed, they were merely obscene and unwanted signs of degradation and humiliation.

But it was his job, and he did his job really well.

He pushed back against the cock impaling him from behind and clenched around the hard flesh inside him, which almost scorched him internally. That's how it felt to him, each and every time. Like he was burned, marked from within. The touch on his body felt like nothing more than painful shards of glass cutting him, slicing him, tearing him.

He was burning - not the kind of burn that warmed your whole body and even your heart if you were lucky - but the kind of burn that branded your soul in the worst way possible, the one that made you feel dirty and soiled, the one that refused to leave and clung to your skin for all to see.

He gasped and, mistaking the sound for arousal, a sweaty hand stroked his shaking flank in approval, the pseudo-tender touch quickly turning into resounding smacks on his ass before resuming their painful grip on his hips to keep him in place.

His own hands grasped the soiled sheets in a tighter hold. His body was so tense from the different positions he'd had to assume for the last several hours that he worried for a second that he would break under the weight of the john's lust for him.

Each new thrust made him almost lose his balance, but he couldn't go anywhere. He was just grateful that his active participation wasn't demanded anymore. Orders to 'talk dirty', the necessity of enticing his clients with pornographic phrases, was one of the most hated aspects of his job. Sure, it was just words - for some people. It was another story when you were commanded to put yourself down for your clients' pleasure. This john in particular got off hearing the man under him use demeaning filth to humiliate himself.

Finally, the hooker felt that the other man was almost finished; it was time to push him over the edge. He lunged back roughly one last time, as if he wanted the hard cock inside him to bury itself in him so deep it would never come out, and listened with detached disinterest as the man came, almost silent this time except for some grunts.

After a while, he felt the quickly-softening cock pulling out of him. He let himself fall on his stomach on the bed, feeling as sweaty and dirty as the sheets under his skin.

He didn't care.

He was done, and he would get his money in a matter of seconds. This guy paid big bucks to fuck another man up the ass. He paid big bucks to watch the little queer suck his cock like a pro, to hear the faggot humiliate himself and beg him to pound into him hard and fast.

It was no news to the whore. He was an observer of the human nature - or so he claimed. He knew people. The guilty ones always paid the best. They were also usually the ones who demanded the most of him. They could never accept the fact that they liked fucking men better than fucking women. They couldn't acknowledge that watching a man jerk off in front of them got them off faster than they could ever dream; couldn't admit that sucking a cock or getting their cocks sucked by a man turned them on more than they'd ever be with their wives, girlfriends, or mistresses.

These were the men who hated themselves. They hated the queers around them, and could punish both by fucking one in sordid alleys or smelly rooms. These inadequate assholes made it as dirty as they thought it had to be.

The whore knew that... and took advantage of it.

He made bigger bucks with those johns; what did he care if they were pathetic little men using him or those like him? What did he care if they were unhappy, doomed to live a lie all their lives? Everybody was using everybody; it was a lesson he'd learned early on. The difference was he was now able to do his share of the using.

Without a word - he knew the man in front of him didn't want to hear the sound of his voice now that he'd achieved completion, now that he'd come back to the reality of his oh so straight and decent life - he watched as the other discarded the condom from his cock, throwing it in a corner of the room with a grimace. The john cleaned his groin and put his relaxed cock back in his pants. He'd never bothered to get fully naked, of course.

The prostitute watched like a hawk as a hand slid inside a wallet to grab a bunch of bills.

The other man didn't say a word either; he just stared at the money as if it were a snake ready to attack him, and let it fall on the floor. He turned and left the room without another glance.

The hooker turned on his back, sat on the bed and stared at the closed door for a second. He didn't mind the silent and even resentful departure of his client; he knew perfectly well the other would come back.

They always did.

With a sheet, he quickly dried off the sweat and the semen covering his body. The first part of the evening always had the other guy jerking off on him; it was the uninspired prelude to the rest of the performance.

All his clients had their habits, their quirks, their kinks. All he had to do was remember them. Good quality service - that was him.

He chuckled to himself and finally stood, still naked, but not caring a bit. Nudity was, after all, a big component in his line of work, and he'd gotten accustomed to it. Maybe he was an exhibitionist at heart; he sometimes wondered what was an inborn part of him, and what was a direct consequence of his particular job. He would have to ask.

He stood in the front of the room, looming over the bills discarded on the floor... looking at him and almost mocking him. He hated when he was made to bend, or even worse, crawl to get his money. At least the other didn't stay this time to watch him debase himself like that. Why couldn't they all just leave the money on the nightstand, or even hand it to him like some of them did? Was it really so difficult? Was it showing him too much respect?

He shook his head at the ridiculous and pointless thought. Money was money, be it thrown on the floor or handed on a silver plate. In the end, it didn't change anything. So he bent, grimacing a little as his whole body seemed to scream abuse at him. He grasped the bills and counted them, adding the sum to what he'd already gotten a couple hours before, and a slow smile sneaked up on him.

Oh yeah, good night tonight. And he'd only seen two clients, neither of whom had wanted anything extreme. No toys involved, no threesome or foursome, no fancy role-playing, no weird demands, no violence... only some self-degradation and compliance.

Tonight had been good indeed.

He looked for his clothes, got dressed and left the room. He was richer than only four hours ago, and suddenly felt better. Now, of course, he had to go home and face the music, but at least he'd made some good money; they didn't have to worry about the damn doctors or the fucking test his lover had to take but they'd been afraid they wouldn't be able to pay for... things were looking a little brighter right at this moment.

He smiled again at the thought of his lover, this time a genuine, happy smile. Now, the only thing he had to do was survive his meeting with the big guy.

Piece of cake.

  


* * *

"Go and shower, Blair, now!"

He hadn't even had the time to open the door; Jim had slammed it open for him after doing one of his things, hearing him when he shouldn't have been able to. He was used to it though, so didn't even blink.

He didn't blink at the harsh tone either. He was expecting no less. Since he knew better than to argue when his lover got like that, Blair just glared at him a bit - showing him he wasn't the slightest intimidated but just _chose_ to obey - and went in silence to what passed for a bathroom, although he cast a discreet glance at Jim before disappearing into the small room.

Jim seemed to feel well again, with no apparent sign of his earlier painful migraine. Then again, he could well be using his ill-temper to push his pain away while dealing with Blair. That would be pure Jim.

Blair promised himself to ask about it after their 'discussion'; he took his job as caretaker very seriously, like he did everything in his life. They didn't know why Jim sometimes had sudden peaks where everything looked brighter, sounded louder or smelled stronger... not to mention those frightening episodes when just the slightest touch seemed to be torture to him. The doctors didn't understand either, running test after test and never finding anything.

Nor did anybody ever understand why most of the time Blair was the only one who could help when a multitude of drugs only made things worse. But Blair had long-since realized that Jim's welfare was in his hands, and there was no way Blair would let him forget about that little fact.

But right now, they had something to discuss.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair came back into what was both their living room and bedroom and stood still in front of their bed, wearing only a towel around his waist. Jim, already naked, approached him from behind without a word. He took the towel in his hand and let it fall to the floor, baring his lover as well. Then he pushed Blair down on the bed and manhandled him so that he ended up on all fours, his head resting on his bent arms. Jim let his hand rest on the nape of Blair's neck as a reminder.

His voice was low and deep. "You knew I didn't want you to pull a trick tonight. I wasn't anywhere near the place. I told you, didn't I?"

Blair was already shaking from anticipation - his body was extra sensitive after the activities of the night - but his answer was still defiant. "We needed the money, Jim. You _know_ that." His own voice was slightly muffled by his position, but it didn't stop him from trying to give his opinion on the subject. "Those two johns pay big bucks each and every time. Did you see how much I made?"

The pressure on his neck tightened. "Don't give me any crap about money. I'm talking about your safety here! I'm talking about an order I gave you."

"I know, but we needed the money. _You_ should understand that. Do you want me to remind you of your migraine tonight?"

"I think _you_ should understand I want you to obey me when I tell you something important relating to your safety."

A hard slap on the upraised ass cheeks emphasized the words. Blair flinched slightly.

"Do we understand each other?"

"As long as you understand my point, then yes, we understand each other." Blair answered tensely, aware of the seriousness of the situation, but beginning to feel aroused at the same time.

Jim kept silent a moment. He stroked the slightly hot cheeks softly in a proprietary way; he just couldn't help the feeling, as far as Blair's body was concerned. He also couldn't help but feel angry when he sensed the bite marks on the skin.

"I was worried, Chief."

The use of the nickname was an indication that most of his anger was being processed and expelled.

"You know how scared it makes me when you go out there alone - how pissed-off, too” Jim said in a strained voice. “I don't want you to pull any tricks with me unable to hear what is happening, you know that.”

The body under him didn't move, other than an apologetic shrug. "I know... I'm sorry, Jim."

"I know you are,” Jim said, his voice losing its edge. “Or as much as you can be under the circumstances, you little shit." He was well aware that Blair was stubborn, and could be ruthless when he considered Jim's well-being was at stake. Of course, Jim himself felt the same for Blair, so he couldn't fault him for that. To be honest, it felt good to be loved so strongly, so completely, but he couldn't help the worry and the anger at seeing Blair take risks.

Jim kissed the bent neck. "Now, I want you to stay still. I want you to obey me… here at least." Blair could hear the smile in his lover's voice. He knew he was being teased. "You know what I want."

Blair nodded, determined to keep still during Jim’s ministrations.

Jim began to sniff at Blair's body. He didn't know how he was able to smell what he did, but the fact was that he was capable of smelling much more than the average person. And each time Blair came home from a 'working night', he made him shower first thing. He just couldn't stand smelling other men on _his_ lover's body, their stench clinging to him. That just made him crazy.

Satisfied that he couldn't smell anything more than Blair's familiar and so loved scent, he lapped at him, trying to ignore all the marks and bruises on the soft, totally bare skin, growling deep in throat. The first part of the ritual was complete; he could begin spreading his own scent on his lover's body.

He could begin to cleanse him from the nightly activities.

Jim licked his way along Blair’s back and marked his neck. He nipped at the ears and went down again. He stopped at Blair’s ass, biting it and licking at the tiny wound he had just made.

"I bet you talked dirty to them, that's what they like, don't they? I know who they were, I recognized their stench on you. I bet you made them hard with your words, told them what a slut you are, how hot you were for them. They got off on that, filthy bastards."

Under him, Blair was now shaking even more strongly, knowing what was going to happen and needing it, craving it like nothing else.

"Begging them to fuck you." Jim's voice was so deep, so raw from restrained desire and anger directed at every man who touched his lover without ever understanding how honored they were. "Begging them to fuck you fast and hard... didn't you?"

"You know I did."

"I know you did," Jim repeated. He covered the body under him with his taller frame and whispered in his ear, "As many words as you used with them, you'll keep silent with me. I don't want to hear a word. Is that clear?" he demanded in a stern voice.

He didn't receive a verbal answer. Blair knew better than to speak out loud when he'd just been ordered not to. They both knew the rules of that game, and neither of them wanted to break those rules right now, not when they both craved it so much. Blair kept silent, nodding softly once again, relaxing even more.

That was part of the ritual, part of the cleansing process. To let Jim erase his nightly activities, make him forget the disgusting touches over his skin, the unwanted hands on his body, the undesired feelings _inside_ it.

The ritual helped Blair become Jim's again, claimed with love and respect. It made him belong, once more, to the man he loved more than anything and who loved him no matter what happened in their sordid lives.

Even more important, the ritual made him feel alive again, made him _feel_. Jim was here to remind him that he wasn't just a whore, a worthless prostitute with nothing to live for. He was, if only in their minds, Blair Sandburg-Ellison and he had someone who would always be there for him, no matter what.

That was what the ritual was about.

And as essential it was for Blair, the same was true for Jim, who felt as though he died a little more each time he saw his lover, his best friend, leave with a john.

People just didn't know what to think of the hard man who worked his shift in silence, and acted as if he were living in another world, acted as if he were listening to something only he could hear. The thing is, he was. He was tracking Blair's heartbeat, Blair's voice, Blair's scent. He was listening to every disgusting thing his johns asked him to do, listening to every grunt and moan and cry those men made when they were fucking the man he loved... he heard everything, every little detail.

Neither of them knew why Jim was able to do all that, and it scared them, but on those nights when Blair was out there, selling his body to every one who wanted him, those insanely enhanced senses became more a blessing than a curse. Yes, Jim felt like dying, or better, like killing someone each time he heard what those men did to his lover. But at the same time, it was a miracle... a way to keep track of what happened to Blair, a way to help him know when one of them got too rough or even downright dangerous.

That's the reason he insisted that Blair work near his own working place. Jim refused to let him go too far from the docks. That wasn't safe. He couldn't hear anything if Blair was too far away.

And that was why he had been so angry tonight. Blair hadn't followed their rules, he'd endangered himself needlessly. Anything could have happened to him, and Jim wouldn't have been able to help.

Even when he was on guard, protecting his friend silently, Jim knew that Blair wasn't one hundred per cent safe. There had been too many close calls through the years, but at least he was near... But not that night, and it was the fear of what could have happened that made him react so strongly.

A new rush of love and fierce protectiveness invaded him at the thought. Jim clamped his hands possessively onto the ass presented before him, and ran a thumb along the cleft.

"Damn, Chief. Why don't you ever fucking listen to me?" Jim asked roughly. He spread the cheeks and slid a knuckle inside, watching it hungrily. Blair had lubed himself in the bathroom - he was already willing and ready, as much as he could be after hours of being played with and fucked by inconsiderate men. "If I could fuck some sense of self-preservation into you..." Jim said, shaking his head. "Better prepare yourself, babe."

He entered his whole finger, starting slow.

Jim heard Blair gasp, but felt him relax immediately at the intrusion; Blair was definitely willing, if a little uncomfortable. They didn't care. Jim instinctively knew he wasn't crossing any line he wasn't supposed to. Blair was safe with him; Jim knew his limits, and he wasn't even near them. He watched as one finger, then a second, disappeared in that delectable ass, a sudden heat invading him at the same time. He licked his lips...

Oh yeah, Blair was his. Yes, he took other men inside his body, but they never went deep enough to matter. They only ever took his ass; Jim took his fucking soul. Only he ever reached all of Blair, only he could make Blair feel so many emotions, give him so much pleasure. No one else.

They all knew Sky, the whore who worked the street, but he knew Blair, the man who had crept under his skin and never left.

Jim started to finger fuck Blair in earnest now, crooning softly without noticing; he told him how fucking sexy he was, how tight and hot his ass already felt, and how good it would be for both of them when he was buried deep inside him...

Blair wasn't uttering a sound, but he was already starting to respond to the familiar touch. Jim always knew how to work him... Blair’s cock was hard and, for the first time tonight, it was because of the pleasure he felt and not because it was 'included' in the service. He smiled as he clenched around Jim's fingers, telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted more.

Jim growled and flipped him over. He spread Blair’s legs, and knelt between the open thighs. Without another warning, he thrust hard inside Blair’s ass and slid all the way in. Blair hissed, but the pain meant nothing. Or more precisely, pain could be good when the one you love gave it to you... and that's how it felt for them both.

Jim grabbed his lover's legs and put them around his waist. Blair followed the movement and hooked his ankles together behind the taut back. He arched his back up as the position changed the angle of Jim's cock inside him, already teasing his prostate maddeningly...

Jim felt a shiver of need burn through his veins. He bent down and placed his elbows on both sides of Blair's face - looming, and effectively creating a living blanket over the man bent under him - making his body the only thing Blair could see while being fucked. Jim was inside him, above him, around him... he was everywhere, he was _everything_.

They both knew it wouldn't last long, and they didn't care. Jim started to thrust, with long strokes at first, withdrawing almost completely each time. But after only a few minutes, he couldn't wait anymore and just rammed inside the ass that truly belonged only to him. Blair was hard as a rock. He was a full participant in their lovemaking, and Jim knew he could just let go.

He started to quicken his thrusts, and then everything disappeared. He was fucking Blair with powerful force, slamming into him roughly again and again, making them both move up on the bed each time, the bed creaking and moaning in time with them. Blair's hand was around his cock and he was pumping himself in time with Jim's fucking, the strokes hard and fast, matching Jim’s thrusts. His gaze never left Jim's eyes and this time the burn coiling inside him was pure ecstasy.

When Jim felt his orgasm would sweep over him in a matter of seconds, he bit at Blair’s neck. "Come for me, Chief, come," he ordered hoarsely.

These were the words Blair had been waiting for, the perfect catalyst to push him over the edge. He squeezed his cock one last time and came all over himself, marking Jim's chest as well, crying Jim's name.

"Yes, Yes!" Jim could smell Blair's release and it invaded his nose, his mind, it was in the whole room... he had to follow, had to mark Blair from within. With a last hard stroke, Jim came deep inside Blair, his body shivering as his orgasm swept over him.

"God, Chief," Jim whispered harshly, his face flushed, his whole body one big nerve hit by sudden peaks of electricity.

"God," Blair echoed hoarsely. His hand was covered with come. He slowly put it to his mouth and started to lick lazily, staring up at Jim.

Jim growled, but didn't stop him. Watching Blair lick his own come always turned him on. When Blair had cleaned his hand, Jim pulled out and crawled down the smooth chest, lapping at the rest. He knelt again, showing off his chest where Blair's release was still covering him.

He smiled tenderly, which was all the invitation Blair needed to start cleaning him with hot, wet strokes of his tongue.

When he was done, Blair let Jim manhandle him so that they were both lying on the bed, Jim on his back and him plastered over the strong body. They both needed to wind down a bit more before even thinking of getting up to get properly cleaned.

Jim tugged at Blair’s hair and pulled his head back enough so that he could kiss him deep and long. His tongue mapped the inside of his lover’s mouth, danced and met Blair's, neither of them leading the kiss, both enjoying the taste of the other. Jim licked his lips and put Blair's head back where it belonged, on his shoulder.

"I hate our life sometimes, babe," Jim whispered.

Blair didn't hesitate. Sometimes he was the first to use the line. Tonight, Jim had beaten him to it. It didn't matter; they both knew the response by heart.

"But you love me."

"But I love you," Jim replied, tightening his hold on the warm body against his own.

Sometimes it was enough.

It had to be.

Fin


End file.
